


(25. Tasty) / With the taste of your lips

by Mothfluff



Series: GO-ctober Prompts 2019 [25]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves cake, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flirting, Food, M/M, October Prompt Challenge, One Word Prompts, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: My attempts at an October Challenge, using the original Inktober prompts for drabbles.(Each prompt will be posted as part of a series, not chapters, so I can add tags/characters/ratings/trigger warnings for each instead of the whole she-bang)Prompt 25 - Tasty“Well, spicy things are alright. Masks the taste. Anything that burns, really.”Aziraphale suddenly understood the demon's interest in strong liqueurs, and the Indian takeaway he had on 'speed dial' every time they decided to stay in for the evening. He resolved to stock up on good whiskeys in his drinks cabinet, maybe add a chili plant to his little windowsill herb garden in the flat upstairs.Crowley interrupted his contemplation with a voice that, had Aziraphale been at all listening properly, he would've quickly recognised as flirting.“There's one other thing that always tastes good, actually.”





	(25. Tasty) / With the taste of your lips

**Author's Note:**

> listen, I just wanted to write about Aziraphale enjoying some delicious cakes, and then Crowley had to come in and make it all sexy. I don’t know. I also don't know if enough happens for it to be rated M, but better safe than sorry.

“Are you sure you don't want a bite? It's truly delicious.” Aziraphale scooped around the broken bits of puff pastry and icing leftover from the mille-feuille on his usual plate selection of desserts.

“I'm good.” It had almost become a part of their dinner routine, Aziraphale offering up bits and pieces of his dishes. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if Crowley ever actually agreed to take some. Luckily for the greedy angel, it had never come to pass. Quite the other way around – on the rare occasion that Crowley did in fact order something for himself, it was usually Aziraphale's turn to eat a little bit more than 'just a bite' of it. Neither of them had ever complained about this little arrangement.

Crowley downed his espresso as Aziraphale moved on to the Opéra cake, carefully slicing through the layers of sponge, ganache and coffee buttercream.

“You know we can always go somewhere else if you don't find anything on the menu, right?”

That was a new turn for the conversation. He watched one eyebrow rise above Crowley's sunglasses.

“Angel, I think by this point of our relationship you could've realised I don't really care for eating. As long as you find something, I'm good.”

“I know.” Of course he knew, he'd watched him pass on almost every delicious morsel humans had come up with since they'd discovered that meat plus fire made yummy. “I was just wondering if maybe you did have some vague preferences and were simply too polite to mention it.” What a ridiculous idea – the demon being polite. Not saying what he wanted to say, that was more likely.

“Not really.” Crowley shrugged. “It all tastes pretty much the same anyway.”

“Oh you can't mean that!” Aziraphale looked up from the thick chocolatey Sachertorte on his fork, almost in shock. “Surely there is _some_ variety in the, literally, thousands of dishes we've had a chance to try!”

Another shrug as he leaned back, slumping one arm over the back of the chair. “Yeah, I guess. But it all tastes a bit like ash in the end.”

“It does no- oh.” Aziraphale's flustered feathers (metaphorically and, on a different plane, literally) settled just a bit as he realised. “Does it? To you?”

“Mhm.” Crowley's fingers played around the tiny espresso cup, regretting he'd drunk it all already so there was no slow sipping to hide behind. “Earthly delights aren't meant for demons, and such. Probably from the whole apple thing. You remember your Bible, don't you?”

“_U__pon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life.” _Aziraphale quoted, and sounded perhaps a little bit too heavenly reciting, considering the short flinch the demon gave. He quickly covered the hand on the cup with his own. “Oh, Crowley-”

“Now don't go being all saintly and pitifully kind like you usually do.” He almost hissed. “S'been six thousand years, s'not like I'm not used to it. Like I said, I don't care.”

Aziraphale moved on to the Bienenstich on his plate in silence, but he couldn't really bring himself to enjoy the decadent mixture of almonds, custard cream and honey as much as he usually did. The thought of ash lingering in his throat was a bit too much.

“There's really nothing that tastes good to you? I mean, at least a little bit?” His voice was quiet and hopeful, as if this whole revelation was actually a dramatic problem – which it was, probably, only to someone with as distinguished a taste as Aziraphale. Crowley shrugged again.

“Well, spicy things are alright. Masks the taste. Anything that burns, really.”

Aziraphale suddenly understood the demon's interest in strong liqueurs, and the Indian takeaway he had on 'speed dial' every time they decided to stay in for the evening. He resolved to stock up on good whiskeys in his drinks cabinet, maybe add a chili plant to his little windowsill herb garden in the flat upstairs.

Crowley interrupted his contemplation with a voice that, had Aziraphale been at all listening properly, he would've quickly recognised as flirting.

“There's one other thing that always tastes good, actually.”

“Oh really?” The message flew so far past his head, it almost clipped the chandelier. Aziraphale leant forward with an excited smile instead, preparing to lock away the information that followed as his greatest secret, planning to surprise Crowley with whatever dish he'd mention now at every chance. “What is it?”

Crowley leant forward as well, elbow on table (any other occasion, and Aziraphale would've chided him for his table manners), chin on hand, and smirked. “You.”

Aziraphale almost choked on a cherry in his Black Forest cake. “Crowley!”

“It's true, though.” He was clearly savouring the blush that crept up his angel's cheeks. “You always taste delicious to me. Guess even a heavenly curse can't mask an angel's taste.” The smirk turned into a grin as Aziraphale tried to cover his cough behind a handkerchief. “Or maybe demons are just supposed to enjoy that one Earthly delight a bit more. Tempting and all that.”

“That's – not a very polite dinner topic, dearest.”

“Well, you asked.” 

Crowley leant back again as Aziraphale stared at the Paris-Brest left on his plate, but mostly looked through it. He remembered the love bites and hickeys hidden under his bowtie and waistcoat at all times, and seemed to finally understand the demon's special interest in certain... activities. 

Another thought crossed his mind.

“Are you sure you don't want a bite?”

Crowley had turned his attention away for only a second, looking past their table at the waiter standing at attention near the doors, wondering if it was time to ask for the bill and continue the (very successful, if he might pat his back for once) flirting on the way home.

“Angel, didn't we _just_-” He stilled as he looked back at Aziraphale – holding his hand towards him, a dollop of praline cream on his finger, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The utter  _bastard_ .

Crowley stared back at him for a while, noting the smirk on his face that was so much softer than his own had been minutes before, before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand closer. Lips wrapped around his finger, far further than was absolutely necessary for the small bit of cream, and slowly pulled up again, making sure to drag the forked tip of his tongue along the sides. 

“I'm sure sticking your fingers in the cake is not very good table manners, angel.”

“Neither is _that_.”

Now Crowley couldn't help but grin again, the blush on Aziraphale's cheek a steady pink. 

“That was pretty good, I admit. I think I'd prefer the tiramisu there, though.” He blinked down at the last cake left on Aziraphale's plate, who barely waited to drag only his little finger through the mascarpone, making sure to get as much of the sharp Madeira-soaked sponge into it as possible.

The utter  _bastard_ , again.

Crowley likewise made sure to leave just the tiniest nip of teeth at the end of the offered-up finger this time., and watched Aziraphale's Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I think it's time for the bill.” the angel almost whispered, as Crowley already waved to the waiter. “I'm sure we can get the rest of this to go.”

“You do know what the best part of leftovers like that is, though, right?” Crowley whispered back as Aziraphale batted his eyelashes and barely shook his head. “It's sneaking a taste on the way back home.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're even still interested after all THAT, here's the mentioned cakes that I just really love, guys, I really love cakes.
> 
> Mille-feuille ~ thin, crunchy puff pastry interspaced with crème pâtissière, topped with decorative icing  
Opéra cake ~ seven layers of almond sponge, chocolate ganache and coffee buttercream, soaked with coffee and topped with chocolate glaze  
Sachertorte ~ dense chocolate cake with a layer of apricot jam, coated in dark chocolate  
Bienenstich ~ sweet yeast dough topped with honey-caramelized almonds, sliced and filled with vanilla cream or custard  
Black Forest cake ~ chocolate sponge filled with cherries and Kirsch (cherry liqueur), covered in cream  
Paris-Brest ~ a choux-pastry ring filled praline cream  
Tiramisu ~ layers of ladyfingers soaked in coffee and Madeira (or Amaretto), covered with mascarpone cream, topped with cocoa
> 
> They're all very traditional German and French cakes (with Italian tiramisu snuck in). And they are bloody delicious.


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